


Story

by KatiaSwift



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, and then bad shit happened to everyone the end, at least for some of it, in which Charles is a sex-deprived creepy teenager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiaSwift/pseuds/KatiaSwift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is seven years old when the first alien vessel lands on Earth.</p><p>Things are never the same after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassiCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassiCat/gifts).



> A short collection of ficlets and other things, set in a universe with aliens. Set as a finished work, but I'll be adding bits and pieces to the end as I write them. 
> 
> With much thanks to my darling, who begged and pleaded and poked me repeatedly to get me to write her more. And here it is. 
> 
> Title is also a title in progress. It has been simply called "story" as we passed it back and forth, and that's how it's going for now.

Charles is seven years old when the monsters first come to Earth.

 

He’s allowed to stay up past his eight o’clock bedtime for the first time in his life, to watch the meteor shower with his father. He remembers being quite smug when his three-year-old sister has to go to bed early.

Brian Xavier is very excited. He chatters on to Charles about comets and meteors and asteroids, and the difference between them. They sit in the observatory with the dome open and the telescope pointed at the stars, and Charles tucks the things his father says away in a little corner of his mind, to look up later.

Charles sees the first meteor of the night, a flash of light that arcs across the sky above them, impossibly bright, impossibly long. He leaps up and squeals, pointing, and the noises that come out of Brian’s mouth at the next sighting are not dissimilar.

Sharon comes up after putting Raven to bed, with hot cocoa and blankets and popcorn. Charles is sitting on his father’s shoulders by then, and she wraps the blankets around all of them before giving Brian a kiss.

They stand in the observatory, arms wrapped around each other, laughing and eating and talking. The meteors streak overhead. Charles thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen in his entire life.

The radio is playing; a broadcast live from the planetarium in New York City. The scientists talking sound perpetually surprised, Charles notes, as they ramble on about the unusually high intensity of the meteor shower and the larger particles of ice and rock.

He’s almost dozed off on his father’s shoulders when the blast comes. The mansion shakes. Sharon yelps and clings to Brian’s shoulder, he wraps a protective arm around her and squeezes Charles’ hand.

It’s obvious where it’s hit. Just beyond the woods, down the long dirt road that leads to the next town over. Brian is ecstatic, saying how it must have hit near the pond where he and Charles had been fishing the previous summer.

_That must be awfully close by_ , Charles thinks.

Sharon just looks scared.

 

They watch Brian leave with the car. He promises to be back before morning, and raves about the biggest scientific discovery of his career. Waves of excitement pour off of him as he puts on his seatbelt and drives off.

Sharon takes Charles back up to the observatory after Brian leaves. They stare out at the rising smoke and the flames off in the distance, wondering. Waiting.

They don’t pay any attention to the radio until it goes dead.

(The bunker beneath the mansion comes in handy that night.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's older now, wiser now, and suddenly things are unbearably complicated.

Sometimes Charles just wants to go _outside_.

He hasn’t seen the light of day since before the monsters came. The memories are still there, as strong as ever, but he’s terrified that they’ll fade.

He never wants to forget the feeling of sun on his face, the images of grass and blue sky, the sound of a burbling brook or wind through the trees. He doesn’t know how long it will be before he leaves the bunker again. Maybe he’ll rot away here, spending the rest of his life with the memories he’ll slowly lose.

Raven is impatient, as children often are. She spends her days running the length of the bunker, back and forth, back and forth. She begs to see the outdoors, and doesn’t understand the endless threat. She treats the monsters like a fairy tale; a silly story told to her by obviously stupid parents.

Charles wishes he could be so innocent.

Sharon looks increasingly tired these days, her eyes dull and her hair greying. She spends all her time taking care of her husband, who sleeps for most of the day now, only waking to wordlessly accept the bowl of rice that Charles has cooked for him. Brian is nothing like the father that Charles remembers, with laughter and light in his eyes, always burning dinner and burning his eyebrows off with lab explosions. The kind, forgetful scientist has been blown away by the wind now, leaving a broken, quiet man with the scars of someone who’s seen too much.

If Charles, now eleven years old, had seen other people in the time since the monsters came, he’s sure they would all look like his parents, with weary eyes and greying hair. Cardboard cutouts of the people they once were, easily blown over by the wind, and yet strong, so much stronger than Charles will ever be.

Or so he thinks.

It’s only morning because the clock says so. The lights in the bunker are uniform, night or day. The clock runs on one of the last batteries they still have, ticking down the borrowed seconds to its’ own doom.

His dreams and hopes soar beyond their concrete home, out into the woods and fields around the estate. He wonders if they’re still there, or if the world has changed beyond anything he could imagine.

Once, he makes the mistake of telling his mother about his dreams. He spins a tale of picnics and hiking and swimming in the nearby lake. They’re simple dreams, from a life before, now made infinitely more complicated by the world they’re forced to live in.

His mother shakes her head and frowns.

“Life isn’t a storybook, Charles.” She tells him.

He hears that a lot, now. 


End file.
